


The Wounded King

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [16]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young soldier is all that stands between the kingdom and disaster...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon calls this one _To the Last Man_
> 
> This is Castell Dinas Bran http://www.castlewales.com/dinas.html. If you scroll down, one of the photographs has a reconstruction that will show you how it looks in THIS Universe. And this is Valle Crucis Abbey http://www.llangollen.com/valle.html and of course, in the story it's a fully functional Celtic Christian religious house.

     Gwen stretched luxuriously. Saturday morning, and she didn't have to be anywhere at all. The Rift had been quiet for several days, and Jack had given them the weekend off while he and Ianto took care of the quarterly reports and kept an eye on the monitors. Gwen snickered. If past incidents were any guide to future events, report writing was the least of the things that would be going on in the Hub while those two were alone.  
  
     She kicked off the duvet and salsa'ed into the bathroom. Rhys was already up and about; she could smell coffee. That usually meant Aine was up too. The little one seemed to have built-in radar where her Tad was concerned. Truth be told, she had been a little worried about caring for a faerie child. They had no control over their magic and could wreck havoc if not controlled by an adult. Her godmother had even made arrangements for one of her attendants to step in as nursemaid, just in case, but soon it became clear that when Aine was around Rhys she behaved like a perfectly normal child.  
  
     The discovery had led to two weeks of intensive testing for poor Rhys, while both Pagan and Christian experts stared at the results, shook their heads, and retired to consult heavy tomes. It turned out Rhys's talent was a very rare one, one that most people could go through life not knowing they had. Totally instinctively, he could boost, suppress, or sometimes even re-channel other people's talents to best advantage. These days, faerie ladies were offering him bloody fortunes for his help. When Jack had teased him about it, Rhys had grumbled that when he had fantasized about women fighting over his services, it had never included being a nanny!  
  
     She stepped out of the shower, dried herself, and pulled on the caftan Ianto had given her for her birthday. It was so unlike anything she would ever buy for herself, red-and-gold silk with a poppy pattern and a sprinkling of crystals at the throat and sleeves, and had to be taken out to the cleaners rather than washed at home. _Stop being so bloody Welsh_ , Ianto had told her with an expressive eye roll when she had mentioned it. _Every woman deserves something utterly and completely impractical._  
  
     She added a bit of lipstick and mascara, and felt utterly and completely feminine. _Ready for my closeup, Mr. Williams_ , she giggled as she twirled in front of the mirror. _You ready for me_?  
  
     She found Rhys and Aine sprawled in front of the TV, Aine asleep on Rhys’s chest. The talking heads on the screen were speaking in hushed tones while behind them a live view of Buckingham Palace showed a crowd already forming around the Bouddica fountain. Rhys had turned the sound down so it wouldn't disturb the baby, but she didn't need to hear them to know what they were talking about.  
  
     The Queen was dying.  
  
     As a priestess-in-training Gwen understood the magickal ramifications of the passing of an anointed representative of the Land, especially one who had reigned for so long. Elizabeth Blanchefleur Mary, Queen of the United Kingdoms of England, Wales, and Scotland, Protector of the Faiths, Sister to the Kings of the Faerie, Lady of the Outer Islands, Constitutional Sovereign of the North American Union, champion horse breeder, and reputed Pagan – how could they not suspect, descended from both macEanraigs and Stiùbhairts on the Scottish side and the Lords of Gwynedd and Powys on the Welsh, and with a middle name such as that? -- was the only monarch most of the nation could remember, Queen for going on sixty years. She had sons and grandsons, daughters and granddaughters, and thank the Great Mother for that, but it was still going to be a wrench. Gwen was sure hers wasn’t the only Circle preparing for the Interregnum between her death and her son’s Coronation.  
  
     “What are they saying?’ She whispered to Rhys as she leaned over the back of the sofa to press a kiss on his temple.  
  
     “She’s in a coma, slipping away peacefully.” He shifted the sleeping Aine so he could pull her down into a more satisfactory exchange. “Ah, that’s better. Good morning. There’s fresh coffee and Aine and I went down to the new pastry place and got us all croissants. Good?”  
  
     “Marvelous.”  
  
     She helped herself and took her plate and mug to the small dining table. She sighed. Rhys was right, they would have to move soon. Even with two bedrooms, the flat was too small for a family. Once Aine started to really move around, their cozy little place would become a dangerous obstacle course. Maybe that afternoon they could stroll around the neighbourhood and see what was available. The new row houses off Rawden Place looked pretty decent, and they had enough put away to make a dent on the mortgage. The fronts could do with a little cheering up, but a couple of big tubs full of seasonal flowers and a little stone table and chairs for the good weather and they would look very pretty…  
  
     She was so deep into the fantasy that she jumped when the phone rang. She looked at the screen and sighed. She should have known that getting an uninterrupted Saturday was the stuff of wishful thinking. She shook her head at Rhys, who was frowning at her.  
  
     “Give me fifteen to get into jeans and trainers,” she said, not even saying hello.  
  
     “I don’t think you’d feel comfortable in jeans and trainers at Dinas Bran,” Ianto said, and the tone of his voice stopped her cold. “And Gwen, family is included. We'll be by in a half hour. All right?”  
  
     “All right.”  
  
     She hung up the phone. “Rhys, is your dark suit back from the cleaners?”  
  
     He sat up, holding a suddenly alert Aine against his chest. “Yeah. Gwen, what’s wrong?”  
  
     “Torchwood has been summoned to Dinas Bran, family included.” She put the plate and mug back in the sink. “I think my navy suit with the white and blue jumper and godmother’s pearls. Thank the Mother Toshiko talked me into a new pair of navy high heels.”  
  
     Rhys stared at her for a second then turned to the television set. “She’s dead, then.”  
  
     “Ianto didn't come out and say so, but there's no other reason we would all be required to attend the Prince. I was helping Ianto clean up in the Archives one day and we came across some photographs taken after the old King died. She was in Africa, remember, or on the way back. The Queen Mother brought the little prince down to take the Welsh Oath. There's this picture of Jack kneeling in front of Charles Macsen, and they both look so serious.”  
  
     “Well, it was serious business, wasn't it? Here, hold Aine while I get her things out. The white dress Mam bought her from Spain, I think. And the ballet slippers from Jack. Socks, here we are... Give her here and get started on yourself. But why Torchwood?”  
  
     It took her a minute to switch gears back to the larger matter at hand. “The way Ianto explained, Torchwood personnel are considered the Sovereign's personal vassals. We and our families pay homage to the new Sovereign and in return the Crown undertakes certain obligations towards us.” She stepped into the high heels. “Things like our children's educations are taken care of, there's a tidy pension for a surviving spouse, that sort of thing.”  
  
     “I didn't know that.”  
  
     “Neither did I, until Ianto explained. Here, give me Aine and get yourself ready. They'll be here soon.”  
  
     They had been downstairs only a few minutes when both of Torchwood's SUVs drove up. Jack, Ianto, and Ianto's sister Rhiannon were on the first one. Tosh, Owen, Andy, and Rhiannon's children Mica and Daffyd were on the second one. Ianto jumped out and opened the door to the back seat. Gwen slid in, smiling at Rhiannon.  
  
     “You too, Rhi?”  
  
     “I am told that, although I'm not Ianto's spouse or child and therefore not required to accept vassalage, I am strongly encouraged to consider it.” She shook her head. “It all sounds so bloody medieval.”  
  
     “It's older,” Jack said, looking back over his shoulder briefly. Gwen noticed his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. “And it's real. Think about it before you accept, Rhi, because once you speak the words, you are Bound by them and Power is not a forgiving judge.”  
  
     “I know, Jack,” she answered gently. “I don't think I'm ready to decide yet, but I will be. Don't worry.”  
  
     As they reached Llangollen they found themselves in the middle of a traffic jam as cars streamed slowly towards the esplanade at the base of the castle complex. The sides of the roads were filled with people carrying armfuls of flowers and Welsh flags and singing Ar lan y môr, the Queen's favorite traditional Welsh tune. Gwen found herself singing along, and then Rhys, Ianto, and Rhiannon picked it up.  
  
     “The news must be out,” Jack whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears.  
  
     “Jack...” Gwen started to say something, but found she couldn't find anything to say that didn't sound trite and mawkish.  
  
     “She was my goddaughter, Gwen,” he said.  
  
     Suddenly everything Jack was came crashing down on her. Gwen knew he wasn't talking about anything so simple as a Christian baptism. This beautiful man who looked no more than thirty had held the woman who had just passed away after a long and illustrious life as a newborn and promised the Land and the Elements that he would care for her; and now he mourned her death. Probably, she realized, as Jack would hold the children of her body, and as he would mourn them when they passed.  
  
     She had once asked Owen how long Jack would live, and he had shrugged. _Nobody knows. There's never been anyone like him._  
  
     The guards at the gatehouse of the lower curtain wall took one look at Jack and waved them through, saluting as the SUV passed. They climbed up Crow's Hill Road until they reached the postern gate, where they followed the instructions of a guardsman and parked in a cordoned -off area in one corner of the wide courtyard.  
  
     “The ceremonies are held in the Welsh Tower,” Jack said.  
  
     He led them across to the two-story building with its wide double doors thrown open. Guards in full dress uniform with black armbands presented arms as they passed through the doors and into a small receiving room with a staircase at one end. Beyond, another door also stood open. They followed Jack through it and found themselves in a rectangular hall with a high ceiling and tall, narrow windows. Welsh battle flags hung between them. At the far end, a portrait of the Queen hung above a fireplace large enough to roast an ox.  
  
     A small group of people were gathered around a tall, blond young man in the uniform of a Captain in the Welsh Guard. Gwyllym Arthur Philip Somerled, as of a couple of hours before Prince of Wales and Heir Apparent to the Throne of the United Kingdoms, detached himself from the others and came to meet them. Jack stopped, and they ranged themselves around him in their usual formation, almost like a bodyguard, while Rhys, Rhiannon and the children waited behind. As the prince reached them Jack bowed his head.  
  
     “Your Royal Highness.”  
  
     “That's for later, uncle Jack.” Prince Gwyllym stepped closer and hugged Jack tightly. “Now it's for family.”  
  
     They hung on to each other for a moment, then Jack stepped back. “Are the others on their way?”  
  
     “Everyone should be here by four. We have scheduled the ceremony for five and dinner right after. You will be staying the night, of course. Rooms have been arranged upstairs. Tomorrow afternoon we head for London for the funeral, and no, you can't get out of it. Now, introduce me. Ianto I know, of course, but the others I've only heard about.”  
  
     “Yes, sir. This is doctor Owen Harper and...”  
  
     “Your highness!” A middle-aged gentleman in formal mourning clothes ran in, gasping for air. “Your highness!”  
  
     The only sign of surprise in the Prince's face was a raised eyebrow. “My dear Jonathan, take a deep breath first. That's it. Now, tell us.”  
  
     The man's eyes went to Jack. “Thank God you're here, Captain. Father Caradog from Valle Crucis just called. He said to tell you... he said to tell you the King had awakened.”


	2. Chapter 2

     “His name is Tommy Brockless,” Andy told them. “One of the original First World War tommies. Enlisted the moment hostilities broke out. Only nineteen, poor sod.”  
  
     They were racing up Abbey Road towards Valle Crucis, Jack, Ianto, the Prince and his bodyguard on the first SUV and the rest of them crammed into the second. Rhys, Rhiannon and the children were back at the castle, taken in hand by a couple of the prince's equerries.   
  
     “What happened to him?” Owen asked.  
  
     “I don't exactly know,” Andy admitted. “Somehow he ended up working for Jack in Special Ops, and something went wrong.”  
  
     “His unit stumbled onto a coven of Germanenorden sorcerers,” Toshiko said quietly. “In Belgium. October twenty-six, nineteen seventeen. The push had started to retake Passchendaele one more time. Tommy's unit was instructed to fall back towards Sint Jan and Ypres. The men were exhausted, and it had started to rain.” She was holding her hands against her stomach, rubbing them together restlessly. “They passed a small ruined church, but some of the roof was still up, and they wanted more than anything to be dry, so they went in.”  
  
     Owen reached over and took her hands in his. “And found the sorcerers hiding?”  
  
     “They weren't hiding, exactly. By that time, some of the Imperial High Command believed that the only way to defeat the United Kingdoms was to strike magically at our heart.”  
  
     “The Royal family,” Gwen said.  
  
     “Right. They had gotten their hands on some genetic material from the King's brother, Prince Edward.” At Owen's raised eyebrow she giggled. “The former Prince of Wales who had been killed earlier that year, you ignoramus. The body was in such bad condition that he had been cremated. They were going to raise a demon of decay and force him to curse the family using the Prince's remains.”  
  
     He nodded. “And they had to get as close to the Kingdoms as they could for the law of contagion to work.”  
  
     “When Tommy's unit went into the church, the coven had managed to raise the demon, but it wasn't fully under control yet. The soldiers' arrival broke the concentration of the   coven's high priest and the demon got loose, killed or wounded the sorcerers, and went after the soldiers. Tommy tried to distract the demon while the others got away. It caught him by the thigh, dug his claws in, and pulled him to the altar. Tommy remembers being dragged through ashes and bones, having some of the stuff forced into his mouth... As the demon was getting ready to curse Tommy, the high priest, dying on the floor, saw the opportunity and triggered the contagion spell. But Tommy was in the way. The way the experts figured it out later, the spell went through him, hit the Prince's remains, and bounced back into Tommy.”  
  
     “When the demon shoved some of the remains into Tommy's mouth, he created a closed circuit.” Gwen frowned. “It would have made the contagion spell... Tosh, did they ever figure out what kind it was?”  
  
     “Yes. It was a blood, bone, and sinew spell.”  
  
     Gwen blanched. “In a close circuit, that kind of spell would have transferred properties from one to the other of the objects until it found a target. And the clearest target is a living being.Tommy was Invested, didn't he? Prince Edward had been Heir Apparent before his abdication, that would have been enough. But with that much Magick, both Dark and Light, bouncing about...” She sat up as if someone had poked her. “Tosh, you said Tommy was wounded. Did he ever heal?”  
  
     Tosh shook her head. “No. He doesn't heal. When he is awake, he is in pain all the time.”  
  
     “Great Mother. He became a Wounded King.”  
  
     “A what?” Owen said.  
  
     “Later,” Ianto said from the driver's seat. “We're here.”  
  
     The pulled into a small gravelled parking area to one side of the great quadrangle created by the Abbey's precinct. They piled out and joined Jack and the others near a gate that opened into a narrow passage between two buildings. Two monks stood on the other side, waiting with their hand tucked inside their sleeves, looking to Gwen's eyes like a medieval illustration.   
  
     She studied them curiously. Although she was now perfectly comfortable with having Christians around, and had become quite close to Kathy Swanson, cloistered monks were a whole other experience. They were both tall and seemed lean under the plain woven robes. One was definitely older, white-haired, with a face that seemed to have been carved with a hatchet and the eyes of someone who has spent too much time inside his own thoughts. The younger one was open-faced and comfortable in his own skin. He reminded Gwen of Mother Katherine's secretary, sister Angharad, with her simple faith and welcoming smile. _I suppose there are all kinds, even inside a place like this._  
  
     The monks bowed to the Prince. The older one opened the gate and stood back while the other started briskly down the passage. The Prince's bodyguard, at a sign from Jack, returned to the SUVs, while the rest of them followed the younger monk into the monastery enclosure.   
  
     The passage ended in a beautiful cloister planted with an old-fashioned herb knot garden. They filed down a narrow walk, through another passage and into what was clearly the abbey's infirmary. Two lines of beds marched down each wall, each with a small side table, a chair for visitors, and a privacy curtain. All the beds were empty but one. In that one, half-way down the middle on the left-hand side, facing a window that would allow the patient a view of the pond and woods beyond, lay a young man, only a little past adolescence, with tousled dark hair and a plain, honest face that lit up into handsomeness as he caught sight of the group coming in.  
  
     “Hey, boss!”  
  
     “Hello, Tommy,” Jack leaned down and hugged the boy. “I won't ask how you're feeling.”  
  
     “That's nice of you,” Tommy grinned at him cheekily, but his eyes were already sliding past Jack. “Tosh!”  
  
     “Hi, Tommy.” She hurried to his side. “It's been a while.”  
  
     “How long?” He lowered his voice. “The brothers here are not the communicative sort, if you know what I mean.”  
  
     She giggled. “It's been eight years.”  
  
     “Short nap, then.” He struggled up, swinging his legs awkwardly to sit on the side of the bed, smiling up at Tosh. “No, don't worry. Worst is over. Jack, why am I awake?”  
  
     “The Queen is dead, Tommy.” Jack put a hand under Tommy's arm and boosted him gently. “Let me introduce you to the new Prince of Wales.”  
  
     Prince Gwyllym bowed. “Sire.”  
  
     Tommy blushed fiery red from his hairline to his neck. “Please don't. I am sorry for your loss. I know it's supposed to be the nation's loss, and it is, but for you and Jack... Your father is in London?”  
  
     “And my brother in Boston. The Princess Royal is in Edinburgh, since I have no sister.”  
  
     “Then all I have to do is sit around until after the coronation.” He winced as he took his first step, then turned again to Tosh. “Can you stay for a while?”  
  
     “I would be honored,” Prince Gwyllym said, “if you would come stay with us at Dinas Bran. The coronation is scheduled for Friday fortnight. No need to stay cooped up here.”  
  
     Gwen caught the glance that passed between Jack and Ianto, and she remembered the rumours about the prince's precognitive abilities. Something was making the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she wondered whether he was picking up something that her own unpredictable ability couldn't quite focus on.  
  
     “Come on, Tommy,” Jack said. “I know you want to catch up with Tosh. And I can promise you the best fish and chips this side of Greenwich.”  
  
     Tommy laughed. “All right. If it won't be any trouble.”  
  
     He reached for Jack's arm to steady himself and his fingers landed on the bracelet around Jack's wrist. He examined it briefly, then his eyes went directly to Ianto. “So it was a true dream.” He gave a mischievous chuckle. “Even the party.”  
  
     Prince Gwyllym inserted himself smoothly between Tommy and Jack, offering Tommy his arm. “You dreamed of Jack and Ianto's engagement party? I was away on a state visit to Granada and missed it, and all my usual sources are very tight-lipped about it. Let's make a quick visit to the Abbot to inform him of your decision and then you can tell me all about it.”  
  
     They walked out of the infirmary arm in arm, two young men of a similar age bent on mischief. As everyone followed, Gwen put a hand on Andy's arm and shook her head. When the others had walked out, Andy raised his eyebrows at her in silent question.  
  
     “There's something...odd.”  She waved her hands about in frustration. “I can't tell whether it is my own inner biases against Christianity or whether something is really going on. I was hoping you could...” She sniffed at the air.  
  
     Andy grinned at her. “Play hound?” He closed his eyes and made a slow circle. Suddenly his eyes shot open. “This way!”  
  
     He ran out of the infirmary. Gwen followed closely behind him, scanning for trouble; when Andy was like this, he tended to lose sight of everything but what he was hunting. He ran down the walk that framed the cloister and into a long hall subdivided into small cubicles. It was obviously the monk's dormitory, and Gwen felt very uncomfortable being there, but Andy seemed to know where he was going. He wan into one of the cubicles and sniffed at the air around the bed and the robe hanging from a hook in one of the privacy panels.  
  
     “What are you doing here?”  
  
     The young monk that had led them to the infirmary was standing at the entrance to the cubicle, looking rather bewildered.   
  
     “Who sleeps here?” Andy demanded.  
  
     “Brother Eadgard,” the monk stuttered.  
  
     The name opened a window in Gwen's mind. “The one who was with you when we got here?”  
  
     “Yes.”  
  
     “Where is he now?” Andy asked.  
  
     “He went to the pond. This is our personal study time; he likes to read sitting under one of the oaks there.”  
  
     This time it was Gwen who ran. “Come on, Andy!”  
  
     When they reached the gate, they found the Prince's bodyguard seated on a small stone bench near the SUVs. “Did you see a monk go by?” Gwen asked.  
  
     “Yes, towards the pond, a few minutes ago.” He reared back as Andy sniffed the air around him. “What's going on?”  
  
     “Residual magic all over him, Gwen,” Andy said.   
  
     “Did the monk say anything to you?” Gwen asked.  
  
     “No. He just... he just....”  
  
     “Andy, get Jack. Something's very wrong here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Bran the Blessed: http://www.earlybritishkingdoms.com/bios/bran.html; the Uí Cheinnselaig was a real early Irish dynasty in Leinster, but I've appropriated it (surprise, surprise!): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ui_Cheinnselaig

     Rhys hefted Aine onto his shoulder. She had woken up at the sound of the trumpets, but hadn't seemed scared. Now she held herself upright with her little hands on his shoulders, looking around, trying to find the source of the sound. He noticed the startled, if very discreet, looks they were getting from the gathered dignitaries, but he supposed it was a normal reaction under the circumstances. There couldn't be too many human couples around with a sidhe baby.  
  
     He decided to imitate his daughter and look around the room. He'd seen it before, of course, on the telly, when they showed the Queen's Christmas reception or the Taking of the Welsh Oath, but o the telly it seemed like a stage set, something out of a play. Being here made it real. Not only the place, but what would be happening. He, Rhys Williams, would be swearing personal allegiance to the Prince of Wales. Like Jack had said, it was old and real and he and his descendants would be Bound to the Crown by true Power. And it felt right.  
  
     He felt Gwen grip his arm and smiled down at her, mouthing _all right, love?_ She jerked her head slightly towards the side door. Several men and women filed in, all dressed in black that would pass for mourning if he didn't know any better. They spread out along the walls, each taking up a position next to a door or window. They had pleasant, rather unremarkable faces and flat, blank eyes. He noticed the one in the lead nodded to Jack as he passed. Well, he supposed Special Ops still acknowledged Jack as their founder, even after a hundred years.  
  
     When she had returned from the Abbey, Gwen had given him a quick rundown of what had happened as they got ready for the ceremony. The idea of a Wounded King had thrown her for a loop, and no wonder. The lord Bendigeidfran, the Blessed Raven, whose castle this had been, was the last acknowledged one, and he had changed the history of both Wales and Eire. The idea of a twenty-three year old English boy being magically thrust into the role would make any good Pagan nervous. Put that next to a monk who turned out to be not who he said he was and a bodyguard under some sort of hypnotic trance and the Royal protection services, police departments, and military bases had been placed on high alert. If it had been up to Rhys they would have rushed the Prince off to the Tower until they found whoever was responsible, but it seemed that Royalty didn't hide.  
  
     “My dear Rhys,” the young Countess of Meirionnydd, first cousin to the Prince and recently married into one of the oldest noble houses of Wales, had chuckled as she bounced Aine on her knee, “if we stayed in every time someone threatened to toss a bomb we would never see the outdoors.”  
  
     Now he watched as the Royals filed in, to the sound of _Land of My Fathers_ , the men dressed in the parade uniform of the Welsh Guards, the women in evening gowns, all with the green-and-gold sash of the Order of Dewi Sant across their chests. The Prince entered last, to stand in front of the throne. As the music came to an end, Jack stepped up to face him. Smiling, the Prince held out his cupped hands. Jack dropped to his knees and placed his hands between those of the Prince, and spoke in perfect Welsh.  
  
     “I, Jack Harkness, declare before the Land and its Guardians that I am your vassal and the servant and protector of your House for as long as I shall live, and any descendants of my body and my name I pledge to you and yours.”   
  
     Andy followed Jack – it was done strictly in order of your date of hire into Torchwood, Rhys had been told by one of the Prince's secretaries – then it was Owen's turn, then Toshiko's. Rhys noticed a certain sparkle of amusement in the Prince's eyes when Ianto knelt, and he inclined his head as Ianto moved away to let Rhiannon and her children take his place. Daffyd's had to be reminded of the words, and he was embarrassed when his voice broke towards the end, but Mica's assertive soprano and her look of adoration at the handsome prince made many people smile.  
  
     Then it was finally their turn. As Gwen knelt and spoke the Oath, there was a distant rumble of thunder, and both she and the Prince smiled widely. When she stood Rhys passed the baby on to her and took her place. There was no thunder for him, but there was a deep certainty, and the Prince's hands tightened around his in acceptance. He would have to tell Gwen that the rumours were right; the Prince was a strong empath, at least where his Office was concerned.   
  
     Before they could move away, the Prince reached for Aine and cradled her to his chest, speaking softly to her. She kept still until he was finished, but there were more than a few discreet laughs in the audience as Aine reached up and patted his cheek, a serious expression on her face.  
  
     And it was all over.  
  
     The uniform guards led the way to the adjoining hall, where tables had been set up. The heavenly smells drifting in from what Rhys guessed was a large kitchen reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Their little group was led to two tables at the head of the room. At one of them sat a young man in a wheelchair. Tosh hurried to sit next to him. He grinned at her, then looked the rest of them over curiously. When he got to Rhys's little family, he blinked and his eyebrows nearly crawled into his hairline.  
  
     “Now that is curious,” he mused. “Tosh, introductions?”  
  
     “I think you're familiar with most of the faces, right?” At his nod she continued, pointing to each one in turn. “Andy Davidson, Owen Harper, Rhiannon Crandell and her children Daffyd and Mica, she's Ianto's sister, and Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams and their daughter Aine.”  
  
     Tommy made a sweeping gesture towards the chairs. “Please do sit. Jack will be expected to sit with the family, and so will Ianto, I'm sure. If the last time was any guide they will have one of the pretty, charming princesses come sit with us. I am reliably told that they are trained to gather information from childhood, so don't fall for the bright chatter.”  
  
     As if summoned, the young Countess of Meirionnydd came up to the table. “Oh good, a free seat. Please, everyone sit down. I am suddenly starving.”  
  
     “Mr Williams, would you sit next to me?” Tommy requested. “I'd like to meet your daughter, if I may.”  
  
     Gwen stiffened slightly. “Why?”  
  
     Tommy smiled sweetly at her. “Because I think I know who she is.”  
  
     He couldn't have shocked them more if he had announced himself a sorcerer's apprentice. Rhys sat in the chair Tommy had indicated. Aine turned to look at the stranger sitting next to her tad. After a few seconds, she extended her arms to him. Tommy took her, settling her in his lap, examining her carefully.  
  
     “I was sure it was her.” Looking at the circle of enthralled faces, he laughed. “Did Jack ever tell you anything about my family? No, I suppose not. Our family home was outside Chipping Norton, but my mother was Irish, from Fearna.”  
  
     Andy whistled. “The Uí Cheinnselaig.”  
  
     Tommy nodded. “Oldest and most mysterious of the Tuatha. About the time my parents got married, there was a huge scandal. The Lady Feidelm, sister of King Aodhan, fell in love with a mortal. She bore him a child, a girl. The night she was born, the Royal Bard prophesied that the girl would become very powerful and ultimately become Queen. King Aodhan had several sons of his own, and he didn't take kindly to that. He had his sister and her family exiled, and then sent a small troop after them. Several days later, one of the knights came back. It seems they caught up with the Lady and her retinue, killed her lover and mortally wounded her. With her last breath she opened a Path to another place, they didn't know where. One of the maids and several of her guards fled with the baby, even though they were also wounded. The knights tried to follow and they were thrust back with such force that most of them were killed.”   
  
     “But how did you recognize Aine?” Gwen asked.  
  
     “It's the hair,” Tommy rubbed his fingers over Aine's pronounced widow's peak. “The Lady Feidelm is described as having hair as dark as the night, soft as silk, and beaked like a bird's. And her father was said to have eyes the colour of emeralds. I heard the story often from my mother as I was growing up. Can I ask how you ended up adopting her?”  
  
     Rhys told him the story. When he had finished., Tommy stared at him in surprise. “Good Lord. I would say what a coincidence, except I don't very much believe in coincidences. She sent her child to you and your wife, Rhys.”  
  
     “Why in the world?”  
  
     Tommy shrugged. “Who can tell? The Tuatha are considered odd, even among the Fair Folk, and the Uí Cheinnselaig odder than most. But don't doubt it. She chose you to raise her child.”  
  
     Rhys looked at Gwen, wondering what she was thinking. He had fallen in love with Aine at first sight and had pushed Gwen about the adoption. Not that she had been very reluctant about it, but still... Her smile was answer enough. He clasped her hand as he hugged Aine to his chest.  
  
     “We'll take care of her.”  
  
     Tommy gave Aine one last pat, then turned to Toshiko. “So, Tosh, where did you learn to dance like that?”  
  
     Rhys chuckled as Tosh blushed to the tips of her ears, but he had to admit it was a damn good question. Tosh had gotten, well, not quite rat-arsed, at Jack and Ianto's engagement party, and when Owen taunted her about her lack of dancing skills she had put on an exhibition of something she called “fan dancing” that had set everyone in the room, male and female, to drooling. Owen's strangled _I guess that's not a traditional Japanese art, then?_ had made Rhys laugh until tears ran down his face.  
  
     “I don't like regular exercise classes,” she answered pertly. “And you are not, repeat not, deceiving me. Eat something.” She touched his arm. “Please.”  
  
     He made a face. “For you.”   
  
     He started to pick at his food. Rhys tucked in a great deal more enthusiastically, and the Countess turned the conversation expertly to matters of general Welsh interest. They were down to dessert – something chocolatey and gooey and absolutely marvelous – when Rhys realized something was wrong with Tommy. At first he just seemed unnordinated, having difficulty moving the spoon from the bowl to his lips, and not catching comments directed at him. It reminded Rhys of his own state after one of those six-day-fourteen-hours-a-day runs to the Continent, and he wondered if waking up after so many years could be as exhausting as all that; but then Tommy's shoulders started shaking, very slightly at first, then with more severity, until he looked as if he would shake himself apart.   
  
     “Tommy!” Tosh threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and holding on. “Jack!”  
  
     Rhys tried to pass the baby to Gwen, but Rhiannon was suddenly there. “I have a feeling they're going to need you both, Rhys. I'll take her.”   
  
     She was bustled out of the room by armed guards, surrounded by Royal ladies and most of the assembled dignitaries. Rhys noticed that the Countess had her arms around Mica and Daffyd's shoulders and was speaking to them reassuringly. He turned back to find Jack and the Prince kneeling next to Tommy while Owen ran some sort of scanner over him. Tosh and Gwen stood at either side, guns drawn, while Ianto, a short distance away, was speaking rapidly into his earphone. Some of the Special Ops people had left with the family and guests, but the rest had formed a loose circle around them, facing outwards.  
  
     “It's like energy is slamming into him at high speed, Jack,” Owen said, putting down his scanner and pulling out a small syrynge. “I'll give him a tranquilizer. If he keeps of shaking like this, his bones will start to snap.”  
  
     Before Rhys was even fully conscious of what he was doing, he was throwing himself forward, pushing Owen's hand away. “No!”  
  
     The doctor rounded on him angrily, but something in Rhys's face stopped him. “All right. What should be do, then?”  
  
     “Lay hands on him. Draw some of the energy off. He's fighting something, I don't know what, but drugs will make him weaker.”  
  
     Jack nodded. Standing behind Tommy, he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. The Prince, still kneeling, gripped Tommy's hands. Ianto stalked over to wrap his arms around Jack and intertwine their fingers together. For a few terrifying minutes – _what if he had been wrong?_ – Tommy didn't seem to react, but then they could see the tremors slow down. Owen picked up his scanner and ran it over Tommy again.  
  
     “Rhys!” He barked. “Over here.”   
  
     Rhys moved to stand in the spot where Owen was pointing, on Tommy's left. He reached out to place his hands on the boy's arm.  
  
     “No! Jack is doing most of the work. Put your hands on him instead.”   
  
     Rhys swiveled slightly until he was facing Jack. “How?”  
  
     “You would know best, Rhys,” the Prince's voice was low but firm. “Just trust your Talent.”  
  
     Nodding, Rhys took a deep breath and reached out. His right hand went to rest against Jack's heart, while his left crossed Jack's body to lay over Jack and Ianto's twinned hands. It felt like touching his hands to a live electrical wire, like being stabbed with millions of fiery needles, like plunging his hands into an ice bath until he was numb and his skin turned blue. He felt the energy pass from Tommy to Jack and be released in a controlled stream and he felt Jack's own pain and Ianto's supporting strength taking the worst of it so Jack could still function. Then, after what seemed like hours of pain, the energy started to slow and diminish and then finally it was all over and he staggered back and into Gwen's fierce embrace.  
  
     “Gwen...” He croaked. “Need to tell Jack... need to...”  
  
     Jack's voice reached him from a very long distance. “What do you need to tell me, Rhys?”  
  
     “He's supposed to die for them, isn't he?” He sensed, rather than saw, Jack's nod. “For us. Tommy is the Sacrifice.”  
  
     “Yes.”  
  
     “Look closer! There's something else, something... underneath. If Tommy dies now, everything dies with him.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lambeth Palace is the London residence of the archbishop of Canterbury.

     Rhys looked down at the unconscious man in the hospital bed. “How did you meet him?”  
  
     “My first Torchwood job was to sift through his records to find something Yvonne Hartman could use to wrestle him out of Jack’s control. I didn’t much like Madame Director,” Tosh's voice dripped with scorn, “so I managed to contact Jack and tell him what was going on. He put a stop to Yvonne’s plans so fast her head spun. Then came Canary Wharf… Jack hired me right out of the rubble and took me out to Lambeth Palace to see him. He was awake, first time in forty years. I spent a week just talking to him.” She ran her fingers through his hair gently. “Then one morning I came to get him for breakfast and he was asleep again.”  
  
     Rhys hesitated, then plunged on. “He seems a little in love with you.”  
  
     “I’m a little in love with him, I think.” She took a deep breath. “And you, Rhys? Shouldn’t you be with your two loves?”  
  
     “Aine is in the Royal apartments with all the other children.” He gave her a comical look. “Did you know that all their nursemaids are Black Ops agents? Gwen is coordinating with all sorts of agencies from all over the Kingdoms and Eire. I would only be in her way. Besides,” he shrugged, “I have this feeling that this is where I should be.”  
  
     Tosh nodded. “Same with me. Jack understood when I told him. Besides,” she pointed over her shoulder at the laptop she had propped up on a surgical instruments table, “I can do my work from anywhere.”   
  
     “What are you looking for?”  
  
     “Anything about our erstwhile monk. He has been at the Abbey for over ten years. That means someone has a long term plan…”  
  
     Tommy’s shockingly loud moan jolted them both. They watched in disbelief as a large red stain appeared on the blanket over his chest. Rhys jerked it aside. Tommy’s pyjamas were soaked in blood from the neck to below his stomach.  
  
     “Owen!” Tosh screamed, tapping her earpiece. “Get in here now!”  
  
     A few seconds later the door slammed back against the wall as Owen ran in at full tilt. He cursed under his breath as he took in Tommy’s condition.  
  
     “What the fuck?” He ripped the pyjama top open. “Rhys, give me something to wipe this mess with. Tosh, go to the supply room and find me some AB blood.”  
  
     She ran out of the room. Rhys looked around. Someone had left some towels and toiletries on one of the other beds, he supposed in case Tommy needed them. He snatched up a towel and thrust it at Owen. “Here.”  
  
     Owen pointed at Tommy’s upper chest. “Most of it seems to be right there. Press gently down then wipe when I tell you to. Ok. One, two, now!”  
  
     Rhys heard Tosh return, but he kept his attention on Tommy. At Owen’s _now_ he pulled down then lifted the towel away. The three of them stared at Tommy’s unmarked chest. Then blood bubbled up as if through his skin until he was soaked again.  
  
     “Where is it coming from?” Tosh whispered, clearly frightened. “There’s no wound!”  
  
     Rhys threw the first towel under the bed and grabbed another one.  
  
     “Hold off for a moment, Rhys.” Owen said, waving them both away. “Step back a bit. You too, Tosh.”   
  
     He ran his hands lightly down Tommy’s body. Rhys could almost feel the energy crackling between Owen's palms and Tommy’s skin. Finally, Owen lowered his hands, looking as if he had bitten into something sour.  
  
     “Tosh, I thought Tommy was one of Jack’s Black Ops people during the war.”  
  
     “One of the best.”  
  
     “Didn’t all the battlefield operatives have to be high-grade talents? Tommy is as close to null as it can get.”  
  
     “Tommy’s talent was the ability to locate the enemy by, basically, running his fingers over a map. He had something like eighty percent accuracy, which is as high as it can get. He would pinpoint a spot, the commander would send out a patrol to reconnoiter and if it was a true read they would attack.” As she spoke, she stroked Tommy’s arm gently. “About six months before they ran into the coven, Tommy got a hit. The commander rushed things. Instead of sending out a patrol he shelled the place. It turned out the Germans had hidden in an orphanage.”  
  
     The only sound in the room was Owen’s whispered _shit_.   
  
     “Tommy refused to use his magic again. The Colonel in charge wanted to have him shot for treason, but the other officers refused. He joined the medical corps and casualties went down almost immediately. The soldiers began to whisper it was lucky to be in Tommy’s unit. Then came the encounter with the coven.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to Tommy’s forehead. “When they examined him back in London they found that part of the spell had tangled itself around his magic.”  
  
     Rhys stared at her in horror. “He can't use it without triggering the spell, then.”  
  
     “No. He can’t.”  
  
     “It's up to us, then. Tosh, let's start the IV.” Owen muttered to himself as he worked. “Come on, come on, Tommy. What the hell is causing this?”  
  
     “He’s doing his job.” Ianto stood in the doorway, looking tired and pale. “The King’s motorcade was attacked on its way back to the Palace. His Majesty was shot in the chest. He’s in surgery.”  
  
     Rhys felt sick to his stomach. “If Tommy dies…”  
  
     “We know.” Ianto leaned against the wall. “Jack, Andy and I have been trying to take some of the worst of it off him, but it's becoming harder and harder. Gwen is trying to get as many Circles involved as she can, but preparations take time. We need your help, Owen.”  
  
     Owen looked at Tosh. “Will you be all right here?”  
  
     “Go. At this point there's nothing you can do that Rhys and I can't.”   
  
     Rhys stared down at Tommy. He was missing something. The memory was there, right on the edge of his consciousness, but impossible to grasp. He watched as more blood poured out. Sighing, he turned back to Tosh.  
  
     “There must be clean blankets somewhere. And more towels.”   
  
     “I think I saw some sort of linen cupboard across the corridor from the supply room. To the right, three doors down.” She took something out of her pocket and threw it at him. “Here. Ear phone. Just in case.”  
  
     He fit it in with one hand as he reached for the door handle with the other. Just as he started to pull the door open, it was shoved inwards, sending him crashing down to the floor. Two men dressed in Guards' uniforms entered. One was definitely the monk Gwen had described to him. The other one was someone he knew personally.  
  
     “Bilis bloody Manger,” he snarled, surging up, only to be stopped cold by a very large gun being pointed right at his nose. “What the hell do you want?”  
  
     “Revenge, Mr. Williams. Torchwood took away my King, so I shall take away yours.” He approached the bed. “Move aside, Ms. Sato.”  
  
     “No.”  
  
     He waved his hand and she was flung down next to Rhys like a rag doll. “Don't tempt me, Ms. Sato. I want all of you alive and suffering, but I don't object to killing one of you if I have to.” He studied Tommy's face. “Such a nobody. I'm going to enjoy killing him.” He touched Tommy's forehead. “Look at me, Kinglet, and see your death.”  
  
     Tommy's eyes popped open. Manger put his hands on Tommy's chest and pressed down. Tommy thrashed, moaning, his hands scrabbling weakly at Manger's wrists. Tosh screamed and tried to stand, but the monk kicked her in the back of the knee and she crumpled to the ground. The monk stood over her, gun pointed at her head.  
  
     “If you move,” he said to Rhys, “she dies. And keep your hands away from your ear. We know about those Torchwood phones.”  
  
     Rhys spread out his hands. He could see Tommy was losing the battle. His head was lolling to one side and blood was now trickling down from his mouth.   
  
     “Poor little King,” Manger crooned. “There will be no knight to the rescue this time. And the land will die as the King dies.”   
  
     And then Rhys knew what he had to do. He stared into Tosh's eyes, willing her to understand. She gave him a tiny nod. She pulled herself into a tight knot, arms around the knees, rocking back and forth.  
  
     “Please, don't,” she moaned. “Please.”  
  
     Manger turned to look at her. “Begging, Ms. Sato? How appropriate. I had to beg after my King died. The Germanenorden doesn't tolerate failure very well. I'm sure they'll make you beg too, once they have you in their little cells. They are so creative....”   
  
     Tosh launched herself into a roll, crashing into the monk's knees, taking him down and slamming her joined hands on his windpipe. He jerked then lay still. At the same time Rhys surged upwards, grabbing the gun and pointing it at Manger.  
  
     “Move and I'll put one in your stomach, and then I'll turn you over to Jack to finish off. Now!” He waited until Manger stumbled away from the bed. “Tommy. Sire. Can you hear me?” Tommy gave him a weak nod. “Whom does the Grail serve?”  
  
     The question seemed to echo off the walls. Manger screeched and held his hands over his ears. Suddenly Tommy was wreathed in light, and he looked whole and unharmed. He extended his hand to Tosh, who rushed to take it. Then, still smiling, he turned to Manger and spoke gently.  
  
     “There is no place for you under the sun, traitor. Go into the darkness of your soul and may God have mercy on you.”  
  
     Manger tried to run, but the words seemed to pin him in place. He cowered. His body seemed to contract and then explode outwards. Rhys turned his head away, and when he looked back Manger had gone as if he had never been there.  
  
     “That's done,” Tommy lay back against the sheets. “And I'm done, too, I think. The curse is gone. Oh Tosh, how I wish...”  
  
     “I know.” She brought his hand to her lips. “I know.”  
  
     “Rhys, my blessings on you and yours, for what they are worth.”  
  
     Rhys dropped the gun and came to stand by Tosh's side, laying his hand over hers. They could hear people running in, but they didn't pay any attention. They stood quietly, holding their King's hand, until the light went out of his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's Tower house is here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hestan_Island

     Jack skimmed through the stack of papers, initialling and signing as indicated. He was down to the last few pages when his inner senses tingled with the awareness of Ianto's presence. The sheer pleasure of it warmed him to the soul. Then came the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs. Smiling, he applied himself to reviewing the last documents.  
  
     “Tomorrow at this time we'll be in London.”  
  
     “And Tosh and Rhys will be on their way back from Dinas Brin with Tommy's ashes.” Jack set down the pen and gathered the papers into a neat pile. “I told them not to wait fo us. The doctor will take them to the island.”  
  
     “Tosh mentioned it. Wouldn't you rather have done it yourself?”  
  
     “I thought about it, but...” Jack sighed. “They earned the right.”  
  
     “Yes.” Ianto sat on the edge of the desk, facing Jack. “I know you cared for him.”  
  
     “I cared for each and every one of the boys and girls I recruited, trained, and sent to die in that bloody war. Though I will admit to a soft spot for Tommy. He had an invincible innocence that let him look into the vilest of minds and remain untouched somehow. Not ignorant or naïve, just unsullied.” He looked up at Ianto. “You remind me of him at times.”  
  
     “It's true what they say, then.” Ianto's voice shook a little. “Love makes you blind.”  
  
     Jack heard the uncertainty behind the words. “Ianto Jones, you are one of the strongest, most decent, most human men I have ever met, in spite of all the horrors you've been through.” He willed Ianto to see the truth in his eyes. “And I wouldn't have missed us for the world.”  
  
     He saw Ianto's pupils flare and had barely enough time to brace himself before Ianto's hands gripped his head to hold him in place as Ianto's mouth crashed down on his in the most blatantly possessive kiss Jack had ever experienced. He dropped his shields, inviting Ianto in, and exulted when the invitation was accepted without the usual hesitation. Jack's hands came up to grip Ianto's head in a mirror image of what Ianto was doing to him, mutual posession in body and mind.   
  
     Finally Jack managed to tear his lips away.  
  
     “Downstairs. Now,” he gasped.  
  
     “Our bed at home would be much more comfortable.” Ianto's teasing little smirk told Jack exactly what he was up to. “It's not that far.”  
  
     Jack stood up, kicking back the chair. Grabbing Ianto by the lapels, he pulled him close. “Downstairs.” He growled. “Don't make me get tough.”  
  
     “Oooh. Terrifying.”  
  
     “Really?”  
  
     “Absolutely. Shivers down my spine.”  
  
     “You don't sound scared.”  
  
     “Well, it... passed.” He grinned and slithered away from Jack's grasp. “Come on, tough guy.”  
  
     They scrambled down the ladder and tumbled into the narrow cot, stripping the clothes from each other's bodies, sucking and biting at the exposed flesh. Jack loved slow, lazy sex, taking his time building up the heat, but some days... some days rough and ready and explosive was perfect. He moaned as Ianto pushed him down into the mattress and stretched out on top of him, grinding their erections together before setting up a thrusting rhythm.   
  
     “Slow down, for God's sake!” he gasped, at the same time his hips jerked upwards to meet Ianto's down stroke.  
  
     “You're having those body-mouth disconnect issues again, Jack.” Ianto brought his knees up so he was straddling Jack. “And I don't want to slow down. Not tonight.” He grabbed a tube of lube off the side table and slapped it into Jack's hand. “Get us good and slick.”  
  
     Jack poured out a generous handful into his palm then went to work preparing them both. He was too far gone for finesse, so he contented himself with making sure Ianto couldn't get hurt. Well, that and making him mewl. He loved to hear Ianto mewling, a soft sound that started deep in the throat and gained volume and pitch as it went, Ianto's back arching until Jack was sure he would snap in half, ending in a whispered litany of _oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck_ that would fade into soundless mouthings as Ianto collapsed forward to begin the cycle all over again. He watched Ianto lost in his pleasure until his skin was shiny with sweat and his thigh muscles trembled. Then, and only then, did he remove his fingers from Ianto's arse and replaced them with his cock.  
  
     “Oh God, Jack, please, more!”   
  
     Jack pushed his elbows into the mattress and offered his hands to Ianto. Interlacing their fingers and leaning slightly forward, Ianto used Jack's arms to brace himself as he moved fast and hard. Jack let him do all the work, turning his body over for Ianto's pleasure, finding his own in the sight and sound and feel of Ianto.  
  
     The pace was punishing and it couldn't last. Ianto's back arched again but his time he held the position, head thrown back, mouth open. Jack felt him contract around him, and the squeeze was enough to draw his own orgasm out of him. He let go of Ianto's hands and gripped his hips, pulling him down until he was jammed inside as deeply as he could go as he came. As if it had been a signal, Ianto emptied himself, spraying Jack's stomach as he slumped down, tucking his face into the curve of Jack's neck.  
  
     They stayed there for while, catching their breaths, hearing each other's heartbeats slow down to a normal rhythm. Jack ran his hands down Ianto's back, then, mischievously, used his nails in a particularly sensitive spot on Ianto's ribs. The touch surprised a giggle out of Ianto, provoking Jack into more and more outrageous raids, until Ianto was squirming like a five-year-old and they were both laughing.   
  
     “Enough, enough!” Ianto rolled off Jack and onto his feet. “”You're worse than Mica and Dafydd sometimes.”  
  
     He disappeared into the bathroom. Jack heard the water running and a few minutes later Ianto reappeared with a wet towel in his hands and a dry one thrown over his shoulder. He wiped Jack down and then patted him dry.  
  
     “Can we stand the sheets or do we change them?”  
  
     “They're fine for tonight.” Jack grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down for a long, luscious kiss. “Get into bed.”  
  
     Ianto scooted in, wrapping one leg around Jack's thighs and resting his head on Jack's shoulder, making a satisfied little _ummm_ sound.  
  
     “I signed the paperwork,” Jack said. “I'll take them to Fineman tomorrow.”  
  
     “Are you sure you want to do it, Jack? The house has been yours for a very long time.”  
   
     Jack tangled his fingers into Ianto's hair. “It was never a home, Ianto. Just a place to live. Now I have our home here in Cardiff and the Tower at Hestan. That's more than enough for me. Gwen and Rhys need a place for a growing family.”  
  
     “Do you know something the rest of us don't?”  
  
     Jack grinned. “Let's just say I had the interior designer redo the nursery first. And we had a long discussion about cribs.”  
   
     Ianto sat up, looking at Jack as if he had grown an extra head. “Cribs? As in multiple?”   
  
     Jack's sly grin was his only answer.


End file.
